


Benediction

by Donovanspen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donovanspen/pseuds/Donovanspen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written 2 years ago based on comment fic prompt: Cas may be back in Heaven and dealing with a war, but Dean still has the ability to bring out human emotions in him.  Set mid season 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benediction

**Author's Note:**

> Previously titled "Feel." Unbeta'd.
> 
> (I don’t own anything related to Supernatural. Just having fun writing stories.)

He saw it – the look of utter devastation only to be replaced a second later with cold determination. He’d been there. He knew this. Fight so hard and keep going and going and going and pushing every emotion as far down as it’ll go until you can’t feel anything.  

Angels come across as cold and heartless, but they feel. At least this one did. He watched him walk away from his fallen comrades, his features stoic and revealing nothing of the massacre that had just occurred here.  

This wasn’t even his battle, but he certainly wasn’t a neutral party. The senseless loss of life and the never-ending tenacity had him feeling strung out and mercurial. It had to be so much worse for Cas who actually had to kill some of his brothers. He watched quietly as Cas quickly and efficiently dealt with the bodies. He kept his distance out of respect. 

Minutes later, Cas strode over to him. He hadn’t healed his wounds or cleaned his clothes. Dean wondered if he had expended too much energy during the fight.  

“We should go,” Cas started. 

Acting on impulse, Dean reached out and took hold of Cas’ forearm. His other hand reached up and his fingers ghosted over the bruising on his cheek. Cas didn’t even flinch. Dean dropped his hand but didn’t let go of his arm. He stared at the vivid dark bruises and bright red blood. It could have been Cas this time. The battle had been brutal, and he hadn’t come out of it unscathed. And there hadn’t been anything Dean could do. He trailed his hand up the arm, moving it to his tricep, squeezing gently.  

“Dean.” Cas’ voice held a trace of warning.  

He ignored it. He took a step closer and moved his hand to his shoulder. He noted that while Cas’ eyes had narrowed, he hadn’t pushed him away. 

“Dean. Don’t.” 

He ignored the command and placed his other hand on the opposite shoulder, holding on but not closing the distance between them. 

“I’m not human. Do not ascribe human emotions to me.”

“Humor me,” he rasped, hating the scratchiness of his voice. He didn’t even like angels and this was affecting him. He knew that it had to be eating at his friend. Hell, he saw it on his face. 

“Dean,” he began before stopping and looking away. “I can’t do this. I can’t fight like this.”

He tightened his grip on Cas’ shoulders. “If you don’t, that’s how you’ll end up.”

Blue eyes locked onto green and held. Dean didn’t back down. He never had from that stare. He knew that Cas could pull away at any time, but he hadn’t and that was something. 

“I can’t afford the liability, Dean. Emotions cloud your judgment.”

“Emotions keep you….” 

“Human?” Cas broke in with an arched brow.  

“Well, then, that’s not the right word, because whatever it is, you have it, Cas. It’s a part of you, and if you keep trying to bury it, it’s going to eat away at you, and you’ll forget what you’re fighting for.”

The angel stared at him for a long moment, and Dean could swear that he saw his eyes begin to moisten slightly. He was so sure that he was getting through to him. He believed that Cas was finally responding when he lifted his arm, maybe to accept the embrace he’d been offering. Instead two fingers touched his forehead and when he looked around, he was next to the Impala, alone.

 

 

 

 

Dean shifted around even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest. He had slept on Bobby’s sofa many times, and it was often more comfortable than the motel beds that they bunked in. He sighed and rolled over again, letting his eyes roam over the shadows in the darkened study. But his mind just wouldn’t cooperate and settle down. 

He felt the presence before his eyes actually landed on the angel. Even with the little shards of moonlight that lit the room, he could see the scowl and tense set of the shoulders. And what did that say, that he could even notice tension in such a stoic being?

“Are you ok?” he asked in a low voice. Sam and Bobby were asleep upstairs, but it still felt right to keep the solemnity of the quiet. 

“I would have been.”

And he knew exactly what he was talking about. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and patted the space next to him. Cas joined him on the small sofa, close but not touching. They sat in silence, Dean not sure what to say at this point.  

“Why?” Cas finally asked.  

“Honestly? I don’t know. I guess I wanted to try to ground you like Sam and Bobby do for me. They pull me back before I’m too far gone.” 

“I’m in the middle of a civil war,” he growled. “With angels,” he added as if Dean needed reminding. “These emotions have no place.” 

Dean rubbed a hand across his face and wished that he’d never brought this up, that he could just let it go, but he couldn’t. Every time he tried, he couldn’t erase the image of Cas’ face as he stood over his dead brothers and sisters.  

“I get it, man. I really do. I know about pushing everything aside and doing what has to be done, but pushing down doesn’t get rid of it. Seriously, if I hadn’t seen your face, I would have never said anything. But you just looked like you needed…” He trailed off. 

“I’ve been a warrior for centuries, Dean, and I have never …needed.” 

“You’re different now.” 

“And what exactly is it that I need? To talk and express feelings? We have never done that. You mention Bobby and Sam, but you don’t do it with them either.” 

“I have,” he protested. “Not often but when it was necessary. And no, I don’t think that’s what you need.” 

“Then what?” Cas demanded, frustration dropping his voice to a low hiss.  

For someone who professed to not have the need to express emotion, he was doing a pretty good job of it right now. Dean had a pretty good idea of what to do, though. He’d needed it himself, and he knew that  there wasn’t anybody else who would do this for Cas.  

He turned so his entire body was facing him. Edging forward, he closed the distance between them and reached up and placed his hands on either side of his face.  

“This. I think you need this,” he whispered before leaning forward and placing a kiss on the angel’s forehead. He murmured softly in Latin as he pressed similar kisses on each eyelid. Finishing the prayer, he sat back, waiting. 

Cas’ eyes were still closed and his voice was a soft whisper.  “Why are you trying to break me?”  

“I’m not. I’m trying to hold you together.”


End file.
